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To get a submission printed in this issue, 
four of the people at the right had to vote 
for acceptance. 

For the award winners, only John Stobart is 

Judy Belfield 
Steve Faron 
David Moore 
Mary Korst 
Maureen Mueller 
Michael A. Stilliazn 
John Stobart 






(Past prize winners are only considered when no new contributors seen wor.thy. ) 

Several fine cover designs were sub- 
mitted for this issue. The final 
decision resulted in a tie. 

5 -^MP 





must be subr 

Manuscripts or cover designs for WORDEATER 44 must be submitted 
to John Stobart in roon C-1069 by / 

APRIL 15, 1983 / J/J^rf /?/ / f «pp & 


Manuscripts will not be returned. They inay be anonymous and 

All copyrights are retained by the authors, and material may 
not be reprinted \Jithout their permission. 


Maureen teller 
Dave O'Brien 
Judy Belfield 
Nancy Lockhart 
Leonard Ludtke 
Judy Belfield 
Rosemary Grossi 
Dave O'Brien 
Judy Belfield 
Nancy Lockhart 
Judy Belfield 
Thomas C. Collner 
Judy Belfield 
Jerry Frazar 
Maureen Mueller 
Jerry Frazar 

Jayne Woodcock 

Judy Belfield 

Dave Br i en 
it it 

Judy Belfield 
Jayne Woodcock 
Nancy Lockhart 
Judy Belfield 
Leonard Ludtke 
Dave O'Brien 

Judy Belfield 
Jenny Jones 
J. Scott Helm 
Judy Belfield 
Jayne Woodcock 
R. Walser Yale 
Leonard Ludtke 
Rosemary Grossi 
Jayne Woodcock 
Rosemary Grossi 
Colleen Kelley 
Jerry Frazar 

Nancy Lockhart 
Rosemary Grossi 
Jerry Frazar 
Kim Scholl 
Nancy Lockhart 


Jayne Woodcock 
Rosemary Grossi 
Nancy Lockhart 

Breathlessly In Love/Schlock. .«<,... 1 

Yet Another Limerick 1 

Psychomarama. ..».. ....... «... 1 

Fillers 1 

Bang, Bang, You're Dead. . 1 

Cliches From the World of Espionage/Small Talk 2 

Emergency Room . . . 2 

A Game of Questions . . . 3 

Tea For Three 3 

Mrs. Church . 4 

Two and One and Two . 4 

Alone Again. 4 

Then and Nov/. 6 

Gold Beating. 6 

Make Way for Progress/Old Sins/The Pretense. 7 

Guaranteed Mutual Destruction/He Made a Calamity of a 

Wondrous Thing 7 

You Who Have Been Cut 7 

Paper Airplane. 7 

A Line of Cars 7 

The Weed of Memory , 8 

Off Course, Of Course 8 

I Got Those. «.. 8 

Unfinished 9 

Cold Coffee/ Intruder 9 

Fertile Mental Soil/Haiku. 9 

Two Phases of the Same Moon. « 9 

Untitled Illustration 9A 

Suicidal Satire. 10 

Night Terrors 10 

The Beast Within 10 

Reuse , Refuse. 11 

Definitions ...11 

Field Furrows Glimmer. 11 

Ride on the Highway 11 

Spiral Endlessly 11 

CompPst 11 

Here £ Speak 12 

Rat-A-Tat-Cat. 12 

My Dream Came True .12 

History of Western Civilization, Part 37, Lizards of 

the Early Church 13 

Bedlam 13 

Empathy ........14 

In the Beginning/Maybe 14 

Hallucinations • 14 

Turn of the Tide 14 



Gentle Deepening Blue. . 16 

Erudition/Naked^ 16 

Danny „ *. ..16 


Maureen Mueller 

Py the green and slimy marshes 

where the air was stale and thin 

He gave his smog-filled heart to her 
as she coughed "Yes" to him. 

The tears of joy flowed from their eyes 

or was it just pollution 
That caused them both to pant and sigh — 

they needed a solution. 

"We could move up to the mountains 

near the sticky River Scent 
And raise our children 'naturally 1 

in our own little oxygen tent. 

And stay indoors and never want 

as long as the tanks are full 
•Midst nuclear waste, in our o T - r n little place 

we'll disprove this ecology bull." 

So they sneezed and wheezed endearments 

and vowed their love was true 
And married in the "springtime" 

near ftiae sludge-environed slew. 


Judy Belfield 


I love you , Norman Bates , 

Even though we argue, 

And the fruit-cellar's dark. 

Gotta test your wings , 

Let go my apron strings , 

And try to fly 

As far as the birds 

With the glassy-eyed stares 

Down there in the office. 

Such a good boy, Norman, 

Cleaning up after me, 

Even though I'm cranky — 

But I'm old, you see, 

Don*"t get around much on my own,. 

Sure, we have our little spats — 

It's the way it is 

With mommas and their little boys. 

But we know what ' s thicker than water , 
Don't we, Norman? 

Leonard Ludtl: j 



Bang. The pedestrian falls, twitches 
twice, and di^c Bang. The car swerve3 
out of control and hits a lamppost, £or.d 
hands at the steering wheel. Bang. All 
the years of waiting are finished, all the 
dreams (nightmares?) have come true. Here, 
alone on this cold and -Lonely roof, I take. 

Dave O'Brien 


There wnce was a man named McBeth 

Who met an untimely death 

The poor old soul 

Broke open a mole 

And wound up bleeding to death. 


Nancy Lockhart 


They aren't odes, 

They aren't ditties, 

Not profound, 

Nor even pretties, 

Couldn't really call them killers; 

To be quite honest, 

They're only fillers. 

Little warmth, 
Little light, 
Humming softly 
Through the night, 
(My) electric friend. 

I've spent my lifj. 
Writing out thank you notac. 
Now I've run out of ink. 
(God knows I'm grctoful. ) 


Maureen Mueller 


Sling some stylistic schmaltz- 
syrup- soaked snippets 
simplistically sapid 

Sashay seductive subtleties — 
soul- sabotaging swoons 
sacrilegiously slick 



Salivation salvation' 

... satiety 


my vengeance on the society that made 
me. Bang. The woman's brains splatter 
onto the face of her now- screaming 
child. Bang. Bye-bye, Sonny, nobody 
likes a cry-baby. Bang. The years of 
training, a lifetime of brainwashing , 
Txave finally paid off . When some kill, 



Bang, Bang, You're Dead, continued 

they feel pleasure. Others feel pain, sad- 
neG3 or remorse. All I feel is recoil. 
Bang. The mailman collapses, a bullet in 
his heart, his warm red blood painting the 
morning mail. Bang. Months of wondering, 
running from the truth. Ages of pain, 
piled high upon the foundation of a broken 
heart. Disillusionment takes its toll. 
,Bang. The weary bag lady staggers, staring 
in disbelief at the flow of blood staining 1 
her shabby, moth-eaten coat. Bang. At 
long last, I have made the big time. Heads 
will turn, people will sit up and take no- 
tice. The people who made me what I am. 
Shaped me, molded me with desires and de- 
mands, threats and warnings. And above all, 
never be a failure. Bang* -Ihe_wail_ x>f 

sirens reaches my ears, enraging me, 
as a red flag would a bull. Bang. I 
have killed today, but I have only 
killed nobodies. No politicians or 
world leaders, no corporate magnates 
or billionaires. No one vhi ic re- 
sponsible , only little people, like me. 
Bang. The sirens QfcoV louder, and the 
tinny sound of a bullhorn now joins ., 
in the haunting refrain. Give yourself 
up. You can't win. Bang. Failure 
looms over me, like a giant spectre, 
hand in hand with his partner, death. 
Bang. The realization of "failure 
sweeps across me in a tidal wave of 
pain and suiltc Failure. Slowly, tear- 
fully, I reverse my rifle, placing the 
muzzle in my mouth. Failure. Bang. 


Judy Belfield 

Judy Belfield 



I rented a trenchcoat 
from the spy- supply shop 
and stood on the corner 
pretending to read the Times . 
(Oh, the Times, they is a'changin 
what -;ith a hole in the middle of page one.) 

I waited all day for my prey to appear, 

putting up with jeers 

from snickerin fools. 

I got plenty of looks, 

and had many suspicions , 

but nobody filled the bill — 

or everybody did, 

and I couldn't follow them all. 

Tomorrow, I'll hide in the shadows 
like Orson Welles 
wh.ile the zither music goes mad 
and wait for Mr. Bond 
to find me. 


Rosemary Grossi 


Nothing to do but wait, 
Why'd he leave so late? 
Recr ir. inat ions 
Hope drowns in despair, 
Life leaves us unaware. 


They sit across from each other at 
a horseshoe- shaped counter sipping cof- 
fee. The gray morning sighs outside 
large plate-glass windows wanting to 
draw the darkness back up under her chi: 

He wears a plaid flannel shirt. His 
small frame hunches around his coffee 
cup. A red and blue stocking cap sits 
on his gray-haired head. He smiles, 
and a dozen new wr inkles appear on his 
ruddy face. 

She wears a heavy, black, cloth coat. 
Her skin is pale and pulpy and soft 
looking. She smiles back. The waitrec, 
whisks through, refilling their cups. 

"Got yer Christmas shopping done?" 
she asks. 

"I'm waiting 'til the last day," 
says the woman. 

"Shoulda seen all the people at the 
Mall yesterday," says the man. 

The waitress moves on. 

"I used to work a t Baskin's," says 
the man. "They got a dress code there. 
All the salesmen gotta wear wool socks. 
Course, they'll sell 'em to ya half- 

"I hear wool socks are making a 
comeback," says the woman. 

Silence. Except for clanking dishes 
murmuring voices, and the Ray Conniff 
Singers on the radio: "For all we 
know, we may never meet again." The 
music is soft. The smell of bacon 
dances with cigarette smoke. A school 
bus careen past in the traffic outside, 
cutting a yellow swath in the gray mor- 
ning. Garish light bulbs shine in the 
morning's eyes, and a gray ache^moanb 
in her bones. 

"S' posed to snow today," says the 

"Yeah?" the man asks. 



Small Talk, continued 

"That's what they're forecasting." 

"Had a helluva snowstorm out east last 
week," he says. 

"My son lives in Boston," says the 
woman. Her eyes twinkle. 

The man brings his coffee cup to his 
lips and empties it. He searches his 

pockets for change which ho flips onto 
the counter — three silver coins. He 
stands and stretches, reaches for his 
coat, pays at the cash register, and 
at the door, he is swallowed up by the 
great, gray jaws of a yawning morning. 


Dave O'Brien 


"I don't think; 

I don't know," said the wise man. 

Rosewood sandals, 

Cover up tea spots , 

Stains on a four-ply 

Oriental rug. 

Teakwood bowl of opium 
Incense burns the nose 
Escape the sanitarium 
A seed, therefore, arose 

"I must be blind; 

I cannot see," said the wise man. 

Calloused dingers, 

Cover up the mold spots 

-tains on a worn out 

Dungaree coat 

Silver spoon of cocaine 
Powder melts the nose 
-Reuses for some false pain 
A seed, therefore, arose 

transistorized sermon 
In a cardboard bailer 

Lost children recreate, 

Buddy Holly, Watergate, 

Morals , guidelines , battleships , 

Modern warfare, 

Bleeding lips , 

Arms and breasts, 

Death and sex, 

Numbers, signs, cancelled checks, 

Mourning glories , 

Last Hurray 2 

Herpes, headlines, 

Ma and Pa. 

Lullabies, no regrets, 

Smoking low- tar cigarettes, 

Mountain climbers in Tibet, 

What did we forget? 

Did you die yet? 

Is the bed wet? * 

A seed, therefore, arose my dear 
A seed, therefore, arose 
A choice is what you chose my dear 
A choice is b.ow -you chose. 

Ricky- ticky tailor 
Christ and Norman Mailer 

A seed , therefore , arose my dear 

For what is in a name? 

A choice is what you chose my dear 

Fire is still a flame 

The lame are always lame 

Reasons why? Still remain 

Win or lose, 

Cheat, refuse, 

The questions are the game. 


Judy Belfield 


I heard the morning groan 

in my teacup — 

moaning among the dregs 

underneath the tea* 

Like a proper old maid, 

I crooked a pinkie finger in the air 

and drank, 

sipping slowly, 

not disturbing the leaves. 

I took the teacup to a gypsy 
who pretended to portend. 

We heard Maria Ouspenskaya speaking-- 

no matter what — 

the violins played "Golden Earrings" 

too loud 

and drowned out the words. 

The morning groaned 
and cursed us both. 



Nancy Lockhart 


She was a circus lady of sorts, 

Who fired her children through cannons 

And shimmied, golden- robed , among impotent vipers. 

A railkless mother with spires for tits, 

Which it's said she rubbed against God and 

Anyone el«e she cared to seduce. 

Those who passed between her awesome thighs (the bastards), 

Like pilgrims through a cathedral , ^. Self ield 

Visit her with predictable regularity and 

A kind of mosaic guilt, 

Never failing to drop money on the kitchen table 

For cigarettes and rent; 

The smell of her A long time ago, 

Forever in their nostrils. he and she became one. 

She filed off her jagged edges. 
******** He oversaw the job, 

saying where and how to pare, 
Thomas C. Collner so that, eventually, 

they fit together well. 



Little Sarah Annis was home in her 
bedroom thinking about her day at school. 
She remembered sitting in her desk at the 
back of the classroom. Miss Voight, her 
teacher, came up to her and asked why she 
wasn't out at recess with the other child- 
ren. Sarah replied that she would rather 
be by herself, and that she didn't need any 

"Not need any friends? Don't you get 
lonely being by yourself all of the time?" 

"Not really," said Surah. "I'm getting 
used to being alone at home all the time. 
Besides, I have secret friends at home. 
They're always there." 

"Secret friends? What do you mean by 

Miss Voight* s and Sarah's conversa- 
tion was interrupted by the sound of the 
bell calling the children in from recess. 

Sarah walked up to her full-length 
mirror on the closet door, peered in, and 
saw one of her secret friends peering back 
at her. Sarah had dozens of secret friends 
in her bedroom. She looked up at the 
ceiling and saw more of her secret friends 
looking back. Sarah had friends covering 
every inch of her walls, friends in her 
closet and friends on her dresser. Sarah's 
favorite friend was a porcelain-backed 
hand mirror her mother gave her for her 
seventh birthday. Sarah went over to her 
dresser, picked the mirror up lovingly in 
her hands, and gazed dreamily into it. 
Sarah could almost hear the face in the 
mirror whispering, "I love you, Sarah. 
You're my bestest friend in the whole 

A smile covered Sarah's face. She 
thought how lucky she was to have a father 
who was an interior decorator. If it 
weren't for him, Sarah wouldn't even 
have these friends. 

In time, 

she forgot what she shaved away, 

not really missing the burrs 

that hampered the fit, 

happy, she thought, 

to be a unit: 

it was what all people wanted, 

wasn't it? 

One day, after heavy rains, 

she warped, 

tried to straighten out, 

but couldn't; 

he said because she wouldn't, 

but will was not an issue 

until he brought it up. 

He and she are he and she again, 
together and separate, 
alone and not. 


Sarah held her favqti te mirror 
at arm's lentth and began to dance. 
Sarah waltzed with her mirror just 
like she 3aw the people on the tele- 
vision doing the night before. Sarah 
danced in graceful circles all the 
while smiling at her mirror. Faster 
and faster she danced. Sarah's 
friends all danced with her. How 
happy they all seemed dancing. with 
each other; all of them with a beauti- 
ful porcelain mirror in their hands. 

Sarah began laughing gaily. As 
she continued dancing her friends 
laughed too. Sarah thought how good i 
it was to be with her friends. Her 
teacher was wrong. Sarah had friends. 
Friends that would never turn on her. 
Sarah laughed loud and hard. What did 
her teacher know? 

Sarah's laughter was cut short 
when she tripped on one of the plush 
throw rugs that covered the floor of 



Alone Again, continued 

her room. Sarah regained her balance juct 
in tine to see her nirror fly across the 
room and chatter on one -of the posts of her 
canopied bed. 

Sarah ran across the room with tears 
stinging her eyes and knelt beside the nir- 
ror. Broken. Sarah couldn' t believe it. 
Her favorite nirror lay in a thousand pie- 
ces on the carpet. Sarah lifted herself 
to her feet and brushed a few bits of 
glass from her knees. Sarah blotted the 
tears from her eyes with the hen of her 
dress and kept her eyes fixed on the floor. 
Sarah wondered how she could ever face her 
other friends again after being so careless. 
With her eyes still fixed on the floor, Sa- 
rah shuffled out of the room and headed for 
the broom closet. Sarah grabbed a broom in 
one hand, a dustpan in the other, and 
headed back to the bedroon 

Sarah shyly opened the door and peered 
in. To her surprise she found that none of 
her friends were in the bedroom. Sarah 
walked to the bedroom closet and flung open 
the door, but there were no friends in there, 
, — Sarah shot a glance at the ceiling, at the 
dresser, everywhere, but all her friends 
seemed to have vanished. 

The only thing that was in the mirrors 
were the rooms that her friends lived in. 
How could they have left her? She knew 
that it was her fault the nirror broke. 
Couldn't her friends understand that she 
was already feeling guilty? She needed 
someone to talk to. Feeling rejected, Sa- 
rah ran to her canopied bed and buried her- 
self in her covers. Sarah soon fell into a 
fitful sleep. She tossed and turned in her 
bed. She dreamt that she was back at school. 
This time she was at recess with the rest 
of her classmates. They were taunting her; 
calling her terrible names. Sarah covered 
her ears and begged them to be quiet. Her 
classmates just sneered and moved in closer. 
Sarah felt someone hit her in the back. Sa- 
rah wheeled around to confront her assailant 
only to be hit in the back again. One blow 
followed another and Sarah soon found her- 
self being beaten mercilessly by her class- 
mates. Blood was running from her nose. 
Bruises were beginning to appear dark and 
ugly on her arns and legs. She felt that 
if she didn't protect herself fron the pelt- 
ing hands of her classmates she would soon 
be dead. 

Sarah screamed. 

Sarah bolted upright in bed to a roon 
full of darkness. Sweat was dripping from 
her forehead and ran down the side of her 
flushed cheeks. Sarah stepped out of bed 
to turn on a light. After Sarah took about 
three steps " she felt pain shoot through 
her foot like a hundred pointed teeth. Sa- 
rah screamed again and groped for the light 
switch. Locating it, she flipped the 
switch and found herself once again in her 
bright bedroon. Sarah looked at her foot 
and saw blood running fron it. In anger, 
Sarah yelled at the broken nirror that lay 
at th-e rug by her berL "Stupid, nirror J" 


"Stupied nirror 1" echoed around 
the roon. 

"I thought she was her friend?" 
said one voice. 

"How soon they forget," said 
even another. 

"Yes. Isn't it terribly, terri- 
bly true!" said the first. 

"Who said that?" asked Sarah. 
Sarah frantically glanced around the 
roon, but saw no one. 

"Was it you, nirror?" Sarah 
linped up to the closet door nirror 
and knocked. 

"I said, 'was it you?'" Sarah 
banged harder on the nirror when sud- 
denly her friends naterialized. 

"What if it was? Are you going 
to kill ne, too?" asked the mirror. 
"What do you nean 'kill you'?" 
"Well, you sure did a thorough 
job on one of our friends," said the 
nirror notioning towards the shattered 
hand nirror. 

"Yes. Didn't she shough?" con- 
nented the dresser nirror. 

"I'm sure glad that I wasn't her 
best friend," injected the ceiling mir- 

"Nor I," said one nirror after 

"I didn't mean to kill her," 
yelled Sarah. "She just slipped out 
of my hand!" 

"Clumsy of you, wasn't it?" sta- 
the closet door mirror. "What was it 
your mother told you once? 'Treat your 
friends like you would have then treat 
you.' Wasn't that it?" 

"But it was an accident!" defend- 
ed Sarah. 

"I thought of you as one of the 
family, Sarah. But you murdered one of 
our best friends. We can't let you get 
away with that." 

"Certainly not," added the wall 

"1 say we kill her!" shouted the 
ceiling mirrors. 

"Yes, kill her!" screamed another 

"Kill her!" screened the mirrors 
in unison as the reflections started 
banging against the glass. 

Sarah covered her ears to reduce 
the sound the nirrors were making. 
Everywhere she looked, the nirrors were 
shuddering as the girls inside then 
struggled to get at her. Sarah ran for 
the bedroon door only to have it slam 
shut inches away fron her face. 

The ^irl in the nirror on the door 
folded her arns across her chest and 
asked, "Going sonewhere?" 

This was followed by a chorus of 
insane; laughing as all the girls stare-1 
evilly at Sarah. 

Sarah covered her eyes and hoped 
they would disappear. As soon as she 
covered her eyes the laughing stopped. 

( continued ) 

Alone Again, continued 

Sarah stood paralyzed with fear. A few 
minutes passed before Sarah slowly moved 
her hands away from her eyes. 

Sarah's heart stopped for a moment 
when she saw the girls in the mirrors. 

"Kill her with this!" said the wall 
mirror as it drew taut the scarf that was 
in her hand3. 

"No. Kill her with this!" retorted 
the .mirrors above her as they dangled 
a noose from the ceiling. 

"Let me kill her!" screamed the dress- 
ser mirror. 

"I'll kill her!" I'll kill her!" 
screamed one girl after another as they 
tried to break out of their mirrored cells. 

Sarah pulled open the bedroom door 
and rushed down the flight of stairs. Sa- 
rah ran to the kitchen and pulled out the 
biggest knife she could find. 

Sarah muttered to herself, "They won't 
kill me! I thought they were my friends, 
but they aren't. I hate them all!" 

Sarah ran up the stairs and -burst into 
her bedroom. "I'll shov/ you! I'll kill you 


The mirrors just looked at Sarah 
and began laughing once again. Sarah 
tightened her grip on the knife and 
lunged at the closet door mirror. They 
screamed as the knife penetrated the 

"Sarah, I'm home," called Mrs. 
Annis, Sarah's mother. "Sarah, an- 
swer me when I'm talking to you." 

Mrs. Annis waited a few minutes 
more before she stormed up the stairs 
to Sarah's room. Mrs. Annis flung 
open the door. A scream barely escaped 
Mrs. Annis' lips before she slumped to 
the floor in a dead faint. In the cen- 
ter of the bedroom floor lay the muti- 
lated body of her daughter. In the 
mirrors were the dead reflections of 
her daughter. Each standing in a pool 
of blood; each with a knffe protruding 
from their chests. 

Judy Belfield 

Jerry Frazar 


No moment but thi3, 

they said, 

and it was true, 


as they played their lives, 

however short, 

or long, 

on the line of time 

that was theirs. 

A quiet knife 

sliced their existence 

from you 

and me 

without pain 

for anyone, 


I felt the wound 

just now 

as the blade gleamed 

in a dream 

for a moment 

that always was. 

* * * 'A* * ** * 


This is your last chance for redemption 

(relieved from your burden) 

Come with u* 

This is the end to all your days and ways 

(revealed as the emptiness you expected all alone)' 

Come with us 

This is a beginning and an end 

(relief from your life) 

Come with us 

Come with us 

Sail away , 

I feel this way . . . 

Sometimes in the presence of women 

Standing tall demurely 


0:: speaking of love, and money in the same breath* 

Contrsting the gathering entropy 

whisping past our ankles 

With the languid, perfumed air. 

Gently lighted hair, 

A hidden tortured st'. re. 

But wait, friendship. 

kind words 

pure and simple 

cast around the room as sweet supple rose petals 

are lent us as a guide, 

pointing towards a new st: rt. 

A leaf leaps from a tree, 
Lands gently on the ground, 
People from miles around 
Sing a weet and crisp and f ree. 



Maur«e» Mueller 

Jerry Frazar 


The super-duper tollway's coning through 
Bulldoze the porches 

the kitchen 

the bedrooms 
Trample the garden 

(especially Mother's favorite gardenias) 
Asphalt the roses 
Cone*"" te the grass 
Crush the memories 

then relocate the remains. 


The concept of a limited hormonal var 
give.! even the most hard-nosed clinical 
psyc-i ;logiot, 
a nosebleed. 

**3f * & Hf " V " A * * jL * *A* 



Jerry Frr.zcr 



Ah, the principle of life, 

is to live it. 

Such profundity and pragmatism, 

strikes me dead in the face. 

I leave the room groping with stiff fingers. 


Judy Belfield 


Folding a paper airplane, 
small but nimble fingers 
attend each crease with care, 
a child with dissolving hair 
and everchanging features 
hums a simple tune 
about a cow and a moon, 
hands move deftly, slowly, 
along the soft, white- pulp remains 
of a once-magnificent tree. 
.Crayons and stubs of pencils, * v 

ground-down erasers, 

and this afternoon's peanut-butter-and- jelly 
forlornly wait their turns — 

a dream is about to fly. 

Dave O'Brien 


A I- ne of cars 

Along the road 

To say their last goodbye. 

In assured hope 

The line of cars 

Will be there when they die. 



Jayne Woodcock 



You who have been cut 

Rather ,than binding your j/ound ir _. 

Seek to return pain 

Tears flow like warm blood 
Forgive, set free and find peace 
Snap the vengeful blade 

Maureen Mueller 


Relics of old sins — 

the remains of human weakness \ 
A repentant spirit !j \ 

(nurtured in fear, trkined in 
soul-preservation) \ 

gathered up the necessary contritenecs 

i ! ■ * \ 
But somehow . K . ■> 1 |> W \ 

like ancient art i \ 

the distortions have faded 
and left a kind of grace 

******** \ 

Maureen Mueller 




Grandpa lay dying \ 
that whole summer \ 
And each morning 
And each afternoon 
I'd pretend 

and play with my dolls 
my jacks 
my jump rope 
And skip along 

the roses he cared for 
the fence he painted 
the hedges he pruned 
But never, never outside his bedr^ om doer 
or near the chance 

of his echoing silence 


Dave O'Brien 

Judy Belfield 


The -clinging vine 

Which chokec the thoughts at hand 

Bringc forth the "ardener 

With a spray of toxic sand 

And in some gray deceit 

The vines seem to wither and retreat 

New thoughts 

Ease the burden of passing tine 

A richly colored vision 

Of beatitude and rhyme 

And naked in the summer heat 
Searching, searching, whole, complete 

Rooted past 

Fertilized by forgotten time 

Old thou-hts 

Like the vine, begin to climb 

Peace of mind, and then 
The clinging vine again. 

****** ** 


Judging from the position of the. planets, 

We are, perhaps, 

A thousand mile3 from reason 

But cannot close the gap 

Without a proper cap-set 

And a brand new pair of feet. 

The distance, we might say, 
Between here and there , 
Is a dark (or heavy) year 
And we'll all be as wrinkled 
As last month's laundry 
Before the first step is taken. 

Not that the destination 

Is so desirable — 

I, at least, could be content 

At the border of Disorder — 

But there seem3 to be a need, 

Inherent in the fellows, 

To keep the measures straight, 

The numbers in line. \ ! 

A parallelogram, after all, 
Even for its alliterative name, 
Must be what it has become. 

Jayne Woodcock 



I got those I say 

Lo down, mean red rhythm Gimme a pencil! 

Tap tap tap typewriter blues Gimme a pen 

I say those If you can't read my handwriting 

Lo down, cold, cold shoul -cr That's your tough luck, publisher man 

Righteous typewriter baby blues 

When I'm poundin on those keys, baby I got those 

That's when my heart is in my shoes Lo down, mean red rhythm 

Tap tap typewriter blues 
Damn thing's got When I'm poundin on those keys, baby 

Forty-nine koys, baby That's when my heart is in my shoes 

An they all feel the same When you're doin thirty words a minute 
I say that You knoi/ you never will get done 

Damn thing's got forty-nine keys baby You stuck with this 

Your story never will get done 
An bout the time you really mess up honey 
Your white-out's nowhere to be found 

An they all feel the same 
If you miss one little type 
It • s gonna ruin your name 
Maybe for good this time sugar 

I got those 
Folks say, Lo down, mean red rhythm 

"Keep your eyes off your fingers" Tap, tap, tap typewriter blues 
"Don't you know that aint the way?" I got those 
They say Lo down, cold, cold shoulder 

"Git your eyes off your fingers girl" Righte us typewriter baby blues 

"Don't you know that aint ur way?" 
But when I try to type- "1 lov& you" 
It reads S09F369J 

When I'm poundin on those keys baby 
That's when my heart is in my shoes 
(Fade out of mock Blind Lemon Jefferson 
vocal spot^and a bit of muffled hand- 



Nancy Lockhart 


Judy lelfield 

The color of worn-out skin — 
This February feeling 
Arrivec like a "sad telegram; 
Returns like the heavy cea. 
A dirge I've memorized. 

Let me clip it on again 

for size. 
Again, it alt/ays hangs. 
Its lining black & cold. 
But, like the breath of the drunk 

in the back of the bus, 
It comes with the ticket I bought. 

I ride stiff and burdened, 
But I ride; 
Still I ride. 


Lightin one cigarette after another, 
Watchin the wall change colors 
With my mood 
From violet-blue to Mack — 

I u ad plans for today, 
Waged all my feelings 
On an expectation, 
Had the words all ready 
And the coffee too. 

It was gonna be so nice, 

Me and you, 

And just the breeze to shoot. 

I should know better. 

■ t ..«. .«. »r, ,»■,*,. t, i 

Dave O'Brien 

Leonard Ludtke 


At home he'd only scratch his head 
In public scratch his eyes 
Behind closed walls he'd gaze and think 
With others tell his lies. 

In quiet sullen solitude, his lips 

would calmly smile 
Amongst the world he'd laugh too hard; 

to try and show his style 
A lightly darkened mega bega, who seeks; 

a bit too proud 
Who swallows all the madness, as he's 

lurching through a crowd 
A somnambulistic d reaming myth, off to 

find a cloud. 

Alone he suffers silently 
Beneath the stars out loud. 


Fertile mental soil , 

So many seeds are planted, 

Does your garden grow? 


^*dy Belfield 



She snaps off the light, 

rolls over to the wall, 

closes her eyes, 

not knowing 

Fear has tiptoed across the room 

and slid Into her bed — 

an invisible Lothario 

mad with need. 


Leonard Ludtke 

Lost in yesterday, 
How will I find tomorrow, 
Unless I free me? 

Silently struggling, 
Reaching up to touch the sun, 
Blade of grass growing. 

Caverns of coral , 
Bright beauty and deep danger, 
Castle of the shark. 


Tiny invaders , 
Painting a downy landscape, 
Snot/flakes are falling. 

Innocence in flight, 
Young runner's delicate grace, 
Dappled fawn fleeing. 

Silent brooding clan, 
Breathless army of giants, 
Primeval forest* 




Judy Belfield 



Wrists slashed! 
Pills stashed I 

I have nothing to live for 
Happiness has closed its door 
in my face. 

Pull the trigger, as I figure 
No one will notice my leaving 
There will be no grieving 

for ny place — in anyone's life, 

Sharpen the knife! 

... On second thought, I 
don't believe I'm that unhappy. 

n a a ** #v 4\ *v /* 

Jenny Jones . ■,. 


I don' t know what I want — what this 
crazy lust is. All I know is that it's do- 
ing nasty things in ny brain, sinking steel 
claws into soft gray tissue, shredding, 
pulverizing ... turning the colors all 
askew naking ne see them ;- 7 hcre they don't 
belong ... far down the corridor I can 
hear the thing coming — sinuous, lean, black 
body; narrow crafty eyes; steel razor-sharp 
talons with malign intent: slinking silently 
through dark, narrow, gray passages ... 
triggered into a sudden frenzy, it attacks, 
leaps cat-like, tears into the gray matter 
of a wall , ripping a great rent through 
~ T hich brilliant, poisonous colors ooze. 
Screaming in ecstasy, the creature careens 
down blank, smooth, gray halls; possessed 
in a drunken, maniacal, depraved rage . . . 
wantonly skidding into the sides of the 
corridors — tearing frech scars into the 
gently yielding brain tissue, allowing more 
colored thoughts to escape into the for- 
bidden adjacent hall3. . . finally — it 

For now ... 

Deep inside the thing lurks ... a 
surrealistic semblance of a twisted leer 
affiled on its horrible countenance ... 
its cunning, slitted eyes mirror my fear of 
itself — separating and refracting the rays 
as a prism in the sunlight. Hiding just 
around a dark corner, it feeds upon ny 
doubt: mocking, taunting — secure in the 
belief that it will win yet another battle. 
I shrink even now in revulsion in contempla- 
tion of what it forces ne to do. How I have 
learned to dread the feel of its cold, sen- 
sual touch brushing against me, driving my 
every nerve to urgency. I can never catch 
it! Always a thought away, - a- shadow In the 

"Please stay," 

she 3ay, 

"Stay and keep the dark away. 1 

She so scared, 

monsters hidin in corners, 

waitin for night, 

waitin for the light to fade. 

She so afraid 

s'*e say 

"Please stay," 

and start to cry. , 

Her skin shiver, 

she quiver like a mouse 

in a snake's eye. 

She don' t know why 

she afraid of monsters 

nade of air, 

and she don't care. 

She just whimper 

and pray, 

"Please stay." 


darkness, peering at ne around corners, 
biding its time to strike hardest when 
I am least ready. Will I never be free 
of its incescant pounding, pounding, on 
the walls, rocking the very foundations 
of my sanity, striving in a ceaseless 
endeavor to possess me.? 

I am barely hanging on to ny firm 
grip on real things where I am sure of 
myself and am not afraid. There nust 
be a way to stop it. I cannot succumb — 
it would mean my ruin. It is destroying 
me. Mi3t I always run? What if I caught 
it: turned around and chased it? What 
would happen — what would it do? I an 
afraid to fall asleep — it lurk.-; there 
in wait for ne — in my blackest nightraarec 
in every dream tainted with fear, need, 
driving me on, on, on, running, waking 
with a start in cold sweat, tangled 
sheets, only to find that the nightmare 
fades, but the thing remains. It cones, 
eyes gleaning like a drawn sword, grin- 
ning, coaxing, whispering, glittering 
malice, eager for the game. Sone nasty 
sounds , and the silence of claws scoring 
brain fle3h. (A rat in the attic, per- 
haps) There is no escape. For it is 
not beside me, but in me. In the very 
center of ny being — the nind — it was, anc 
is. A hellish, awecone, entity, nocking 
ny futile attempts to cage it, it causes 
constant doubt and <*nfu3ion. The fever 
is back, and my head aches with pressure. 
Help me, is it ne? 



J. Scott Helm 


Distraction, distortion 

Constriction, contradiction 

I see an opening. 

I move for it, 

it closes. 


I'm not trying to take 

advantage of a situation. 

Only to give as well as receive. 

But why the mixed messages? 

Anxiety overwhelms 

Am I reading the message right? 

Or could it be just over reaction. 

Affection, rejection 

Discourse, recourse 

Am I reaching for too much? 

Do I want too much? 

An I trying to reflect what I'm receiving 

or sending what I want to receive? 

Receive , deceive 

Confusion, disillusion. 

Judy Belfield 


An unfettered, f reef lowing line of words, 
Another, shorter, less mellifluous — 
Penning the mind ineptly, 
Confining the soul to squiggles. 


Who fools which fool 

Into believing there is truth 

In the barrel of a Jotter 

Made by Parker with a T-Ball tip? 

What writing instruments we are! 
That a piece of coal or a quill 
Could coraraunicate a thought 
With all its peculiar particulars, 
All its colorations and shadings , 
And yet, somehow, we understand — 


R* Walser Yale 

Jayne Woodcock 



Field furrows glimmer 

Ice clinging to the earth's face 

Reflections of sun 


Ride on the highway 

Into a mountain of clouds 

Wondering how far. 


Leonard Ludtke 

Dave O'Brien 



Abstract geometry of crystal snow 

Fuses with satin black top 

Shining glare of nocturnal lights 

Red, Am^er, Green. 

A car rambles "n by 

Going nowhere, seeking shelter 

Police cruiser with spotlight, 

White flame stares into dark desolation. 

Sitting, silent, sullen 

Only to hear the swoosh of tires on tired 

wet pavement. 
Water tower like a giant pin 
Pierces the earth's delicate skin 
While wind-blown flags frantically wave 
As if to attract attention 
No one looks, 

It's a tranquil, which will rise into hysteria 
This other side of morning in a middle class 


Spiral endlessly, 
Laughing liquid melody, 
Dragonfly ballet. 

Rosemary Grossi 



Crumbling, crunching, crackling — free! 

Through the air falling on me 

Scarlet, orange, green, and brown 

Millions more are floating down 

Pile them up in nice soft beds 

Where the night winds rest choir heads 


Jerry Frazar 



Young, swift blades of grass 

push up through the moist, fresh dung; 

our hearts pulse calmly 



Jayne Woodcock 


Here I speak as one lover to another Know all itc elements by taste alone 
Of the city that understands me And contain all its memories 

I am no child of warm neon Th ^ s town is bawdy and bloody 

Polished steel, glass and strings of electricBared thigh and lipstick smear 


That dapple small trees along the lake3hore 

Majestic and beautiful the downtown claims 

to be 

With its great, glitterig towers and well- 
mannered flowers 

But Carson's and Field's leave me cold 

If this is the heart of the city, where 

lies its soul? 

With my back to the dash and the .glamour 

I blow north past the S-curve 

Pact the University 

And turn my boots west to slanted streets 

Following the sweet, smoky trail of 

burnt grass 

And open air sax 

Through back street tree-green and brown- 

Ova?- ■ concrete slab crumbling, sidewalk ; 

half- sunk /half heaved 

Up from the hard earth 1 s mindless, but 

loving embrace 

I pause to enjoy the lush shadows resting 
cool and silent upon my face 

Then break through the quiet leafy curtain 

To find I have dropped into the city's gut 

Tripped and sprawled headlong into the 
churning, burning center of it all 

The shouts hurled across cracked grey 
streets and parking meters 

Flung back in violent echoes off smoke- 
stained brick and rusted autos 

Jammed end to end, lining countless blocks 
of crumbling, ash-blackened curbing 

While a thousand and more battered vehicles 
howl lustily as they roar past 

Bodies glinting dangerously in the electric 


Footfalls clatter noisily down an alleyway 

to the left 

But upon peeking 'round the corner 

One finds the shadows are empty and silent, 
trash cand and cobblestones staring 
mutely back, telling .nothing 

The city is a thick, blunt block of dark- 

Blues oozing from every crack, every pore 

Bepeath every locked door 

Darkness hatchet-hacked by street lamp, 
neon and headlight glare 

Into a new animal , one that has see: time 

and anger 

These foreign elements have scored jagged 
scars into its once-smooth surface 

Dug niches for themselves so permanent and 


That they now breathe as the darkness 


Pi'ise as the darkness pulses 

Elevated rattle-track 

Or on foot dodging the nererending vehi- 
cle flow below 

This town is a heartbeat hard and fast 

Life pressing close for warmth 

Like the bodies of secret lovers 

Exchanging rough caresses in the shadows . 
of an abandoned doorway 

This town is innocence with evil 

Upon its lips, thinking it fine 

Condemned to remain 

The eternal youth, holding no love save 
for the moment 

This town does not and never will toddle, 
stroll gracefully, speak gracious!/ 

That is all glossy paint and polish 

A brocaded robe disguising the beast 

Or icing on the atom bomb 

This town has dirt beneath its finger- 

For this town leaps and scrambles 

This town shout3 and whispers , with a 
voice rough and cracked a3 its 

This town lives 

Rosemary Grossi 


My rat-a-tat cat 

hissed and spat 

furrball fluff 

and cuddly stuff 

purring sweetly 

cunning cat ... 

When you expect it least 

he becomes a tiny jungle beast! 

Colleen Kelley 


Let me introduce a Classic Chevy 
fanatic — me. I especially like cars 
made from 1955 through 1957. Owning a 
Classic Chevy has been a dream of mine 
for at least five years. That dream 
came true in July, 1982, when I purchased 
a run- '•own 1956 Chevy two- ten, four-door 
sedan with the intent to restore it to 
showroom The problem I 



My Dream Cone True, continued 

encountered is that after I restored it to 
factory fresh condition, I didn't want to 
drive it too ranch. Who would want to drive 
a restoration in the 3now and rain and let 
it rust away, or go shopping and get it all 
nicked up? You don't want to go too far 
from hone in an original 1956 Chevy. After 
all, where 'can you get a water pump fifty 
miles from home, on a Sunday, for a twenty- 
seven year-old car? 

My Classic '56 Chevy now sits in my 
garage parked in all its glory, but let me 
tell you about its beginning. 

When I purchased my Chevy, it have 
numerous interior and exterior "cuts and 
bruises," but no major wounds. The ensu- 
ing restoration took a lot of sanding, 
pounding, stitching, painting, skinned 
knuckles and broken fingernails, not to 
mention the patience of a saint and a few 
swear words, but it was all a labor of 

The end result is a far cry from the 
beginning project. You should have seen 
that car when I found it I Only a true 
Chevy lover could see its potential stand- 
ing there amid the weeds abused and neglect- 
ed. The big question was whether or not the 
car would run long enough to get it home. 
My sister, embarrassed to be seen in what 
she termed a "junker," walked home. Lucky 
for her and the "junk," home was only a 
couple of miles away. 

After the ordeal of getting the 
"junk" home, the fun part began. First 
I tackled the inside; everything on the 
inside came outside. Then I wire-brushed 
the inside metal to remove rust, patched 
the flooring where needed, and coated 
the floor with rust preventative. After 
all of this, came the rebuilding. I put 
insulation and carpeting on the floor of 
the car. Next came reupholstering the 
front and back seats. After the reuphol- 
stering was completed, my dad and I fab- 
ricated and installed four new door pa- 
nels and a rear package shelf. Also, 
my Chevy now has a radio for the first 
time in its life. Connecting all of 
those wires was quite a trick. 

Now that my Chevy had a like-new 
interior, my attention turned to the 
exterior. First the entire car was 
sanded down to bare metal , dents pounded 
out, and scratches filled in. Then the 
car was primed and painted. With four 
new wheels and wide, white-walled tires, 
an oil change, lube job, tune-up, and 
a new exhaust system, the entire project 
was completed. The "ugly duckling" is 
now a "beautiful swan" * 

I am now the proud owner of an 
emerald green and white, fully-restored 
1956 Chevrolet. Do you care to go for 
a ride sometime? I am always happy to 
show off my pride and joy, which is also 
my dream come true. 

Jerry Frazar 

Nancy Lockhart 


B-"iCi ht : bright, bright 

Irridescen t 

Fright, fright, fright 

Joy and 

Light, light, light 

Mingle in distraction. 

A cool breeze and a wave of silence 
Blows thru my hair 

I walk thru silly streets in a dream 
And dream of you. 

The artist lights another cfc arette 
And ponders his fate 

A sweet -i low release 
Leaves . : e in light 

Bright, bright, bright 




The sheets with the smell of backyard air, 

White as toothpaste, 

Cradled us that night like picnic 

Me with my basket of love; 
You \#r th your appetite. 
I never saw the distant cloud approach. 
I was too unprepared for thunder. 
Too soon I was left with morning's 

And the feel of set- in stains. 


Rosemary Grossi 

Jerry Frazar 




Where have all 

the answers gone? 

I used to 

have then all. 

Everything was 

black or white, 

clay or night. 

Then one day 

I went astray. 

You touched me 

and everythi^C became 

variegated shades of gray. 

Kin Scholl 


Give me 

your arm, 

And with 

this rusty needle 

'*nd elastic band 

I can 

Take you 

To a land 

In your mind 

Where fantasy 

And reality 


Irs. to one. 



Of monsters , 

And clowns 


A minister dance 

In a distant 


Where everything 

Is as transparent 

As your eyes 


Your mind. 

Nancy Lockhart 


It lingers on the sheets 
& in the clothes I gather — 
The smell of you— 
Your neck, your hands, 
The perfume of your loins. 

Farewell, night's magic, 

In final token. 

The laundrymat is where I'm at, 

Where sweet enchantment's broken. 

Gently, I transcribe my heart's 
Depth, width, length and breath 
to a form palatable to mortal ears. 

You sway in your breezes 

And go where your muse leads ... 

I would be that breeze, blowing 

I would court your muse, going 

to sea. 

My bankruptcy seeks life in your words, 

to feel 

The gentle breath of your spirit 

caress ray neck. 

Please write, and let me 

feel your power, 

feel your remoteness shrivel down to a warm 

touch, when you write. 

My room is square, grey, cluttered with 
Records, plants, posters ... 
And lying softly on the edge of the bed 
your words. 


Jerry Frazar 


Time slips (laughingly free and easy) 

Through our waiting hands 

And lands (dree "fully free and queasy) 

at our feet. 

We've walked away from it. 

Last Tuesday I watched you dress, 

You combed your hair and laughed it off. 

"I know what boys like, 

I know what guys want" 

That's what you said 

And I left for class, late again 

With all of the indicators in the red, again 

I heard what you said, 

But now off to bed ... 

Now I lay me down to sleep 


My hope for a different tomorrow 

Stands clouded 

In sickly contrast 

With all our yesterdays. 



irsT"& "sfc 'At '}ck *A" 




Caught in a part of the world and a society 

Whose propaganda for two centuries disputed 

The truth that I am living proof of, 

While I and my predecessors stand by watch- 

Situations spiral out of control 

And bide our tirae, 

Producing heirs who will one day 

Reclaim our birthright after the 

Great Experiment of popular government 
'■•■ proves itself again 

To be a failure. 

As it did in the past. As it will do in 

the future. 

There is no doubt that I will be a success. 

There is no doubt in my mind at all 

When I look at ray competition, 

Whose weaknesses and lack of discipline 

Will eventually eliminate them from the 


I will succeed, even against great odds, 

Odds created by restrictive rules. 

Rules created by those who seek to topple 

Those few of my ilk. 

I will seek ray fortune on the other side 

Of the world, in the land of the great 



This is ray way, bred into Me from 

Thousands of years past. 

The way of the Aryan. 


I have always detached myself. 

Only very occasionally, when I 

Was younger and naive to the natural 

Cruelty of human nature, did I 

Expose my heart to certain 

Ones who failed to 

Realize what they were witnessing. 

Through time, I raised my standards 

Closed myself in, appeared to be aloof and 

Arrogant to those who did not understand. 

Then an act of fate caused the meeting of 

Her to take place. Uniwttingly, she broke 

The barrier. She passed all expectations 

Close examinations of character. 
Her intelligence, grace, charm, beauty, 

whose combination 
Thereof has never been equalled. 

I believe I have finally met my alt^r ego, 

Soul mate. The almost 
Telepathic thought exchanges, 
The conversations without uttering a word. 
It is chilling. It is warming. It is 



After protecting the heart in its 

Cynical armor, expecting the 

Worst, hoping the best, I sent out feelers 

To see what the response was. The 

Surprised me. She was never appreciated, 

in personal 
Turmoil, constantly hurt by those . 

ignorant of her , 
Betrayed by those she trusted. She sub- 
Reached out. I received. An informal 

bond was established. 
But she had learned to mistrust her heart 
And ignore her instincts and We stand 

If I press the situation, she will flee, 

If I retain the status-quo I am forced 
To stand from afar and be torn apart, 
Disrupting my concentration on My future. 
I must bide my tirae. 
The standoff will eventually end. 
She states that she wants to keep in 

After we go our separate ways in the 

spring, even though 
She belongs to another who she really 

doesn't understand. 
I know she doesn't understand the signi- 
ficance of what 
I offer her: a chance to grow as a 

person, a mind; a 

who respects her and her thoughts and 

ideas, one who asks 
And lives for her respect; a provider who 
Will keep her from want; a lover who will 
Be gentle and considerate; and a Father 
of her children who will strive to set 
an example that she would approve of. 
A person to make her laugh when times 
are good, and to comfort her v/hen they 
Are not. Above all else, show a loyalty 
That is barely seen in this century, this 
Age. Chivalry is not dead. This is 
My way, bred into me from thousands of 

The way of the Aryan. 

I must have committed some insurmountable wrong in 

My past, and this frustration is my punishment. 

I am trained for and accustomed to frustration, but I 

Believe I won' t bear thi3 one well. In the end, I could 

Very well flee to the other side of the world. 



Jayne Woodcock 

Rosemary Grossi 


Gentle deepening blue 

Ethereal rapture- capturing sky color 
That is in your eyes 

They " abb and flow with information valuable 

to me 

Wi.Qc!owa through which I view your many 


Laugh, a reflection of affection 

Or a backwards roll of condescension 

Accompanied by a half -frown 

Familiar these feel, comfortable, to me 



Blue becomes flatly opaque 

I catch your eyes turned inward, and far 


Your expressive face smooth, blank, empty 


Silent I remain, hoping not to spoil what- 
ever dream you wander 

A little jealous, wondering if the land- 
scape is beautiful 

Wishing I coul - share it with you 

Or perhaps it is not a dream 

But a troublesome thought 

Gnawing insistently at the back of your 


Willinc would I be to offer help, were this 

the case, 

But because you remain tight-lipped, so do 


refusing to invade the privacy you so great- 
ly treasure 

I am presumptuous enough to wonder 

But not presumptuous enough to inquire 

"What's going on in there?" 


Nancy Lockhart 


We fell apart like limbs from a r<°-C doll , 

Stitch by weakened ctitch, 

Soft and slow and sad 

That year I turned sixteen. 


Longings lingering, 

Lying here 

Body aching with desire. 

Wishing, wanting 

One so near, 

Now we know fate was a liar. 

Feelings fingering, 

Fondling fear 

Shadows etched in sin' s fire. 

Soothing , seething 

Sent a tear, 

Raised us up a level higher. 

Merging, mingling, 

Melting clear 

Reaffirming knowledge prior. 

Healing, hungering, 

Hurt severe, 

Gave us wisdom to admire. 

Rosemary Grossi 


Let me see you without all those clothes. 
You've clutched them tightly to your 
covering up with defenses nature loathes. 
I long for. t.he closeness of you undressed. 
Rel£?x } let me help you to become exposed. 
Open up, I'll pull you gently to my 

The garments you cling to needlessly 
keep us from exploring unseen territory, 
hinted at, yet kept from view, hidden 

We can go no farther in our relationship 
unless you get the courage to completely 

yourself of the wall surrounding your 

It's not your body I yearn for, but you 

as a whole. 


A Fifth Avenue love 

Stashed in a memory closet, 

Unfurled now and then, 

Restores the sight of my wild eye 

& I see how good it was 

When we loved the stuffing out of each other. 




Q • O 



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